


And The Winner Is....

by IsaacTheGreat69



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Character Death, Death, HIV/AIDS, M/M, Takes Place In The 80s, descriptions of delirium/fever, descriptions of illness, descriptions of unintentional minor starvation, mentions of ballroom culture, specifically ‘87-’89, this is not a cheery fic guys just keep that in mind and be careful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24943663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsaacTheGreat69/pseuds/IsaacTheGreat69
Summary: Janus has been in the epicenter of the AIDS pandemic since it began. He’s seen more death, felt more loss, and heard more pain than any human should just within the last seven years. He’d all but given up on family, friends, forming bonds of any kind, because he knew they would just be taken away from him.Until he met Logan Abbott.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Kudos: 43





	And The Winner Is....

**Author's Note:**

> So I was hella bummed to miss HIV/AIDS Awareness Day... So I wrote this for National HIV/AIDS Testing Day but I feel like it can encompass both
> 
> anyways happy National HIV/AIDS Testing Day! If you’re sexually active y’all better go get tested! 😜

##  **December, 1987**

“Number 37?”

Silence.

“Number 37.”

People glancing around. Logan nudges Janus. “Janus, that’s you.”

Janus startles slightly when Logan nudges him, blinking. He’d been completely zoned out, staring at the white wall opposite their chairs. “Ah, yes. Right. Thank you, I’ll be back in a moment.” He stands up, meeting the nurse’s kind smile with a blank look and following her back to the doctor’s office. 

Janus shuts the door behind him, the click of the deadlatch nearly deafening in the silence. He takes a seat across from the doctor in a stiff polyester chair, shifting his weight nervously and crossing one leg over the other. Janus folds his hands in front of him and gives a slight nod.

The doctor smiles at him, opening up his file and looking over a page as she speaks. “So, are you ready to hear the results of your test?” She looks up, one of her eyebrows slightly raised.

All he can manage is a nod, his heart hammering in his chest. Please let it be negative, please let it be negative, it has to be negative. 

“You tested positive, Janus. I’m sorry.”

Janus sits in numb silence for a moment, his mind screeching to a halt, the sound of his racing heart unheard past the ringing in his ears. Positive. He had HIV. 

“Run the test again.”

He doesn’t even realize he spoke until the doctor is replying, a sympathetic frown pulling at her lips. “We’ve run the test twice. I’m sorry, but that’s the result.” He shakes his head, looking at her with wide, frantic eyes.

“I can’t have HIV, I can’t die! Not yet!”

The doctor raises her hands in an effort to placate him. “Janus, you aren’t going to die. This doesn’t have to be a death sentence. There are options; treatments, support groups. There’s AZT. You don’t need to fight this forever, you just need to fight until a cure is found-”

Janus jumps to his feet, pushing the chair back. “What cure?! No one is looking! The world wants us _dead_!” He’s bordering on hysterical; shouting, trembling with his racing heartbeat, tears streaming down his face. He wasn’t an idiot. Doctors may promise help and support and solutions but the facts were that no one cared enough to even look for a cure and the only worthwhile treatment killed as many people as it helped. He’d seen the effects of AZT, seen how it can make your body shut down. He was just as well off not doing anything, in his mind. 

His doctor sighs, lowering her hands. “I understand that this is hard to accept. I’ll give you a moment to yourself, I’ll be right outside if you need me.” She walks past Janus and shuts the door quietly behind her, leaving him in silence. 

It lasts for all of ten seconds before he’s falling back into his chair and hiding his face in his hands as sobs wracked his body. In the span of thirty seconds his entire life had been thrown up in the air, all plans for the future shrouded in a veil of futile hope that he’d even live long enough to see them happen. 

The virus had swept through the gay community like the final plague of Egypt, claiming countless lives in the last seven years and looming over thousands more. It had become apparent very quickly that there would be no help. Not from the president, or any governors; no one. Hospital staff would do their best, but even they could only do so much and due to lack of knowledge many of them were afraid to get too close to those on the downslide, afraid of catching the virus themselves. It was the kind of plague that left even the most healthy man riddled with anxiety. It was the kind of plague that didn’t care about sex, race, gender, religion; it only cared about spreading death. 

It was the one thing in this world Janus was afraid of. 

Janus had been only nineteen when the pandemic began. He remembered hearing of it through rumor, how so-and-so’s brother/cousin/son had become mysteriously ill, only to die months later. He remembered when it was no longer a rumor and people in his own backyard began to drop like flies. He remembered friends locking themselves away, ending relationships, never leaving the house in fear of catching it. He remembered moments of silence in ballroom and the absence of it on the television. He remembered the first house he had joined and the exact number of days it took for him to be the only one left standing. He remembered burying friends, brothers, sisters, mothers. 

And now Logan would have to bury him. 

Oh god, Logan. How could he tell him? He knew the pain of watching the man you love withering to nothing before your eyes while no one offered help. Now that he was on the other side, though, nothing terrified him more than Logan not being there, being left alone to rot in a hospital bed while this virus stole his life from him. But Janus was not a cruel man. 

He had to tell him. He had to give him a choice. 

Janus took another moment to collect himself, wipe the tears from his face, and stood. He left the doctor’s office without a word and made his way back to the hall Logan was waiting in like countless others from their community. The way Logan straightened up and looked up at him with hopeful eyes when Janus finally turned the corner crushed his heart in his chest. This may be the last time that he gets to see that face, hold those hands, kiss those lips. 

He walks up to Logan, who’s stood up to meet him with an expectant look. “Well? What’d she say, Janus?”

Janus takes Logan’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. Logan’s expression morphs into one of pain and sadness. 

“I’m positive.”

“Janus…”

Janus takes a breath through his nose and lets go of Logan’s hand. “I’ve been on your side of this too many times to ask that you stay in good conscience. If you… If it’s easier for you to leave, to move on now before things get bad… I understand.”

_“Ten, ten, ten, ten, ten! The winner is Janus from the House of Fidelity!”_

_Janus Jackson was twenty-three when he met Logan Abbott. By then he had buried half of his house and five boyfriends, and had decided life would be more tolerable if he stopped forming close bonds with other people. Despite this self-declaration, anyone you asked would claim that Janus was an open, kind, charismatic young man. He could make the terminal men laugh, gossip with the most effeminate queens, and trade beauty tips with all the trans women without making anyone feel awkward, out of place, or invalidated. No one knew his whole story, but everyone loved to fill in the blanks. This was just as well, in Janus’ mind, as it made it nearly impossible to tell which parts were fictional gossip and which were the sad tale of his life._

_Logan was a twenty year-old nobody from out of state. He’d moved to the city for a change of scenery, or so he claimed to anyone who would ask. Janus could tell there was more to it though, and had he cared at all about making friends he might have pried. He assumed Logan came out and got shamed by his community, as was the story for many of the people in the ballroom scene. It was their home, their refuge where they could be themselves when the world told them they were a mistake, a disease, a cancer. Logan had taken quickly to the ballroom scene, finding like-minded people to watch the night’s categories with._

Logan blinks, his eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly parted. “I… Janus, I would never leave you just because you have the virus. You mean more to me than that. I love you.”

Janus sighs, relief and sadness washing over him; he was thankful he had met Logan, that he wouldn’t have to go through this alone, but the guilt of putting Logan through the same pain he’d gone through would weigh him down until his dying breath. 

“I love you, too.”

_At some point during the night, be it during a category Janus was participating in or just idle chit-chat, someone had pointed Logan his way. Janus swore he would find out who it was and make them suffer, but for the moment he had to uphold his reputation and make Logan feel welcome. Logan had come wandering over like a little lost lamb, taking the chair next to Janus tentatively and glancing at him._

_“Are you… Janice?”_

_Oh, this bitch._

_Janus rolls his eyes. “Janus.”_

_Logan blinks. “That is what I said.”_

_“You said Janice. My name is Janus. J-A-N-U-S. I can hear the difference.”_

_Logan looks at his lap. “I see. I apologize. Though admittedly I feel a little better not having had the chance to accidentally misgender you.” He casts a glance around the room; gay men, a few lesbians, trans women - some more obvious than others - and those you couldn’t label at first glance._

_Janus snrks. “Oh honey. You better watch those comments before you offend the wrong people. This isn’t the suburbs, where you can gossip and slander behind closed doors.” He sighs through his nose, crossing one leg over the other as he gives Logan a once-over. “But I can’t fault you for not knowing. Yet. What is your name, pup?”_

_“Logan,” he says, just loud enough over the emcee to be heard. Janus leans in with a soft smirk._

_“Well Logan, after the ball you’ll be coming to my house and talking to mother. We can’t have a cute thing like you living on the streets.”_

_Logan blushes and nods, and the two turn their attentions to the next category being walked._

* * *

In the spring of ‘88, Janus got a bad flu. Janus and Logan had just buried their house mother the week before, leaving the two of them and Roman - their newest and youngest house member, a gay Latino boy who was barely older than eighteen - in their house. Roman had been debating leaving to join another house, but his loyalty to Janus as an older brother-now-house-father (oh, the irony) kept him in that dingy apartment. Roman and Logan did their best to look after Janus, checking his temperature every few hours, feeding him soup and helping him drink water, helping him bathe when he was too weak to stand on his own. The flu lasted nearly a week before his fever finally broke. Once it did, Logan was hopeful that Janus would recover quickly, but he never fully did. 

As the months went by, Janus seemed to have less and less energy. By the beginning of fall his diagnosis had been moved from HIV to AIDS, and he had stopped walking the balls. If he was having a particularly good day, he would still show up and show support for friends in other houses. Roman had even walked a category on one of Janus’ good days to cheer him up, earning the House of Fidelity their first trophy in almost a year. Janus had cried when Logan wheeled him down the runway to accept the trophy at Roman’s insistence. 

The days began to grow colder and Janus never left the apartment. If he even got a cold, he could die, so he and Logan decided it would be better, safer, to stay indoors with the heat on. It didn’t last too long; November rolled around and Janus was admitted to the hospital with an infection. He couldn’t sleep, had trouble breathing, and would only eat if Logan was there to make him. No one thought he would live to see Christmas. Even after his infection cleared, Janus stayed in the AIDS ward with the other men who were too sick to leave. The place smelled of chemicals, with a backdrop of hacking coughs, desperate prayers, and crying. He hated it there, but Roman and Logan made sure to visit as often as they could to keep him company.

* * *

On Thanksgiving, Logan walked into Janus’ room to find him gripping the pole of his IV stand, walking the length of his room like it was a runway. His eyes were unfocused, swinging his arms around in a delirious attempt at vogueing. Logan carefully approached Janus, gently guiding him back to bed, his heart beating anxiously in his chest. Janus sat on the edge of the mattress and looked up at Logan with a soft smile. 

“What are my scores, baby?” He asked airily. Logan swallowed, his eyes burning with tears. 

“Tens across the board, my love.”

* * *

“Everyone misses you in ballroom, dad. Every night I got people comin’ up to me and telling me they hope you’re doin’ okay.”

Janus gives Roman a small smile, patting the teen’s knee as he sits before him on the bed. “And what do you tell them, Roman?”

Roman grins. “I tell them my dad’s the strongest guy there is! Just watch, spring’s gonna come and you’re gonna get better, I just know it.”

“I’d love to see the looks on their faces when I walk into the room like nothing happened.”

Logan smiles, running his fingers through Janus’ matted hair. “I’m sure you will, love. You just need to rest up.”

“Rest up later, it’s Christmas!” Roman shouts, bouncing a little. Janus chuckles. 

“Yes, yes it is. Logan, did you bring the packages I told you about?” Logan nods and hands Janus two sloppily-wrapped presents. Janus hands the blue one to Logan, and the red one to Roman. “Merry Christmas, you two.”

Roman grins and snatches the present out of Janus’ hand, ripping the paper off. “Oh, bitchin’! Thanks, dad!” Roman holds up the leather jacket to inspect it, showing it off to Logan. Logan nods in amusement, watching Roman put the jacket on before he carefully unwraps his own present. He gasps as he looks down at the picture of him and Janus laughing together as they sit next to each other, Janus’ hand on Logan’s knee.

“Just in case. Don’t want you forgetting how hot I am,” Janus jokes lightly. Logan looks at him with teary eyes and takes his hand, squeezing gently. 

“Never.”

* * *

“I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry, Logan,” Janus sobs, his body shaking as tears make their way down bony cheeks. 

Logan shakes his head, taking Janus’ hands and looking him in the eye. “You have nothing to apologize for, my love.”

“I-I didn’t want to d-die alone, I’m sorry, I’m s-so selfish.”

“You couldn’t have gotten rid of me if you’d tried.”

The pair sit in silence for a moment, Logan rubbing Janus’ knuckles as Janus cries. It was one of those days where a fever made Janus overemotional. Sometimes he thought it was still 1987, and when he realized it was almost 1989 he would lay there and cry, apologizing for trapping Logan with him. It was the same conversation every time.

“I don’t w-want to die.”

“You won’t die, my heart, not for a long time.”

“I should h-have taken the AZT, I should have tried e-everything I could.”

“You said so yourself, there is a significant chance that taking AZT would have shortened your lifespan even more. I’m thankful that we’ve had this time together, I wouldn’t want to change a thing.”

“I-I’m so sorry.”

“... I know.”

* * *

Janus Jackson passed away on January 2nd, 1989, just twenty minutes after his boyfriend Logan had left the hospital. He’d passed away in his sleep, having been well looked-after and held in the arms of the one he loved until he drifted off. The funeral was a week later, and something told Logan that he would need to find a big space to hold it in. True to thought, the day of the funeral the entire church was full of people coming to say goodbye to Janus and celebrate his life, drawing a crowd so big that it spilled out the front doors. No one had known that Janus was religious. No one except Logan.

Logan tested positive for HIV just two months later. He’d sat in the doctor’s office in contemplative silence, nodded, and thanked them before leaving the room. That day, he’d walked the streets of Brooklyn and thought about his time with Janus; all the laughter, the excitement, and the tears. The one thing that kept coming back to mind was all the nights he would sit by Janus’ side in that hospital bed, listening to him cry and apologize, listening to his regrets. Logan returned to the doctor the next day and got a prescription for AZT.

Logan Abbott lived to the age of fifty-four. He had a small number of boyfriends in his life, a few after Janus’ passing, and had buried almost all of them. Shortly after testing positive he had joined ACT UP, leaving behind the balls that Janus loved so dearly to instead fight for his community’s life. When he finally passed on a cool spring day in his own home, Janus’ gift in his hands, he found he had no regrets, looking forward to seeing Janus once again.


End file.
